


In Which Juno Steel Pines Over a Note and the Man Who Wrote It

by JustACandle



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: let's play a game called 'how mopey can I make this'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustACandle/pseuds/JustACandle
Summary: Two days after a whirlwind stranger came and went from his life, Juno mulls over the note he left behind.





	In Which Juno Steel Pines Over a Note and the Man Who Wrote It

**Author's Note:**

> I really want to write more for TPP at some point, so this is really just me playing around with something small and trying to get a feel for the writing style. Nothing revolutionary, just Juno being a fantastic pit of angst and regret, as usual.

 

If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to give Rita cause for concern. God knows he stressed her out often enough.

Juno Steel, eternal source of worry for the handful of people he let close and no less worrying for those that kept their distance.

But it was two thirty in the afternoon and, even by his skewed standards, that was a bit late to be dragging one's self out of bed and into the office. Any longer and Rita _would_ start calling, whining on and on about one thing or another in her obnoxious voice and in that persistent way that Juno found equal parts aggravating and endearing.

He glanced at the clock again. Two thirty-five. He sighed and pushed himself up until he could swing his legs off the bed and arrange himself to face the room. The room which really had seen better days, or so he would have liked to think. There was the usual clutter- clothes strewn about, a few case files he'd brought back to study months ago (or years ago), the odd canvas by some obscure artist or another tucked away here and there. Maybe a bottle of whiskey or three. But there was a recent addition to the familiar disaster and he let his gaze flick over to it, almost thinking it wouldn't be there.

But it was. On his table, resting in a cleared spot between the dirty dishes. The note.

He rose, groaning a little, and padded across the floor to the table, avoiding the obstacles across the floor with a still-half-asleep lack of grace.

Maybe he had already read it five times. Or ten. Somehow, he still hoped there would be more there; something he might have missed. Yes, it was stupid. No, it didn't stop him from reading it again, mouthing out the words as he stumbled his way back to bed, temporarily forgetting (or artfully ignoring) the time. He flopped back, pushing aside the brief thought that everything smelled musty and he could really stand to clean his sheets.

The note was, of course, exactly the same as it had been when he first found it. Albeit with a bit more wear around the edges. His eyes re-scanned the page, freezing on the ending-

Peter Nureyev

Juno let out a sigh, eyes closing, the note falling to his chest. He had one clear moment when he could almost have forgotten about everything that had taken place two days ago, but then a low voice crept back in, murmuring,

 

_-a life of thrills and decadence across the galaxy-_

_-always running, never looking back-_

_We could have quite a time together, Juno._

_It could be... quite an adventure._

 

Rex Glass... Peter Nureyev, _whoever_ he was. He was long gone by now. Off on another adventure, stealing and charming his way from town to town, planet to planet. Who knows what sorts of things a person like that had seen? What sort of things they might still see one day? The things they might do, the places they might go.

Juno tried to imagine it all but his mind went blank. It had to be bright. A colorful life. He opened his eyes and saw the dim room around him, the colors all faded and blurred together in the gloom made by having roughly twelve layers of grime on your windows. There was nothing bright here.

 

The chiming of the comms nearly gave him a heart-attack and the familiar voice on the other end didn't help that at all.

“MISTER STEEL I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN TWO DAYS ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE-”

“Yes, Rita, I'm-”

“ARE YOU _EATING_?! I KNOW HOW YOU GET WHEN YOU DON'T TALK TO ME FOR A FEW DAYS. YOU'LL COME BACK IN LOOKING LIKE YOU HAVEN'T EATEN IN A WEEK AND THEN YOU'LL BE ALL GRUMPY AND-”

“ _Rita_ , WHY are you calling me?”

“OH WEll we've got a whole bunch of new cases that just came in- one about some jewelery that went missing, and one about some guy that died that might have something to do with that one actress in the show I was telling you about the other day, and-”

“Yeah yeah, I've got it. I'll... I'll be there in an hour. Just, don't try and solve any cases on your own again, alright?”

“Sure thing mister Steel! OH AND BY THE WA-”

He closed the line and the silence that followed rang in his ears. He sighed again. There was really nothing for it. Staying in bed all day meant suffocating in the idea of all the possibilities he'd passed up by sending Nureyev away and the cloud he'd left behind that had dug his scent into every surface of the apartment.

He'd told Rita he'd be there in an hour, but he was out the door in five minutes, not even bothering with lipstick.

 

   He semi-voluntarily threw himself into a cycle of days spent clinging to his apartment and, when he finally pulled himself out, never wanting to return to the space that had become less 'haven' and more 'uncomfortably claustrophobic memory'. This went on for almost three weeks when one evening Juno pushed open the door to his home and noticed all at once that something was missing. The apartment smelled musty but _the_ smell- the cologne. It was gone. The only remnant of Peter Nureyev was the note falling apart at its creases on his bed. He slumped down onto the couch. He hadn't been home in a few days and, by the looks of the slightly tidied-up space, Rita had broken in again and left a vent cracked open for fresh air.

He wanted to be mad at her (and was for a few minutes), but a kind of relief settled into his chest and he didn't bother trying to scare it away. He collected the note from its place on his crumpled sheets and tucked it away in a corner of his desk drawer. He straightened and looked around his home.

 

That was it, then. It was over.

 

The odd sense of peace that had taken up residence was brutally kicked into the dust as a sudden weight fell right to the bottom of his stomach.

Peter Nureyev was gone. For good. Escaped out into the galaxy to cause mischief and take up with whomever he wanted and be _free_. And that left Juno, standing in a messy apartment in Hyperion city. Alone. Again.


End file.
